Page 16 of When She Unravels
My nails dig into my palms. Shit. What am I supposed to do?
“Let her pass.”
I glance in the direction of the voice. It’s the brawny guy who was talking to De Rossi. He’s just come down the stairs, and now he’s looking at me with curious eyes. On his left earlobe is a small dangly silver earring.
“Ras,” the bouncer says. “You sure?”
“Ella llamó su atención.”
The bouncer gives me a cross look, sighs heavily, and lifts the velvet rope. “Go.”
I can’t believe my luck. I have no idea what this Ras guy said to the bouncer, but that doesn’t stop me from giving him a bright smile. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head as if my gratefulness is misplaced.
A frisson of fear erupts inside of me, but I ignore it. I’ve made it this far. I’m not turning back.
The closer I get to De Rossi, the harder my heart pounds. I can feel it beating in my neck, my fingers, even my feet. If I mess this up, I’m screwed.
There’s a hidden booth on the balcony that can’t be seen from below. De Rossi’s sitting there now, his arms spread over the back of the seat. Broad shoulders, trim waist, and a few inches of flowing hair that’s pushed back from his brutally handsome face. His brows are furrowed as he watches the crowd. A clip glints on his tie.
I hesitate. It’s like De Rossi’s a king holding court in his castle.
I suppose that’s exactly what this is.
As I slide into the booth and take a seat on the edge, those eyes find their way back to me. There’s a lethal charge about him. He tries to hide it beneath the crisp lines of his suit and his unruffled demeanor, but his eyes betray him. They seem older than the rest of him, with crow's feet visible on his otherwise unlined face. What have those eyes seen?
I take a deep breath and regret it immediately. This man’s cologne is designed to make you want to drape yourself over him.
“Can I help you?” His powerful tenor slides over my skin like a silk robe. I pick up on a very mild accent.
“Hi, I’m Ale.”
“Ale…?”
“Romero.”
“What are you doing here, Romero?” He takes a spare glass from a tray in front of him, splashes what looks like whiskey into it, and slides the glass to me.
I take it and clutch it to my chest. “I needed to speak to you.”
He takes a sip of his own caramel-colored drink. His eyes flick down to my glass, and then past it to the revealing cut of my dress. His gaze lingers unabashedly. “Then speak.”
My hands itch to adjust my clothing, but I force myself not to and scramble for something to say. “De Rossi is an Italian name, isn’t it?”
He nods.
“I’m Italian too. Italian-Canadian,” I clarify. “My family immigrated a long time ago. I haven’t been back in many years.”
His brows furrow at my rambling.
Okay, time to lay it all out. I clear my throat. “I’m looking for work. I was hoping I could convince you to hire me.”
Lines appear on his forehead. I think I managed to surprise him. “You’re looking for work?”
“Correct. I’m willing to do anything.” My cheeks warm when I realize what that sounded like. “I mean, I’ll take any position you have available.”
His lips twitch, but it takes him only a moment to grow stern again. “We hired all of our employees weeks ago.”
